


Alistair Theirin, Cat-Sitter

by lesbianryuko (ashisverymuchonfire)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Modern Thedas, Pet Sitting, Wintersend Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-01 21:52:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17252045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashisverymuchonfire/pseuds/lesbianryuko
Summary: Alistair ends up cat-sitting Ser Pounce-a-Lot for the weekend. Everything is fine, except that he knows nothing about cats—and to make matters worse, he’s pretty sure Ser Pounce-a-Lot hates him.





	Alistair Theirin, Cat-Sitter

**Author's Note:**

> ok so!! i participated in a wintersend exchange on tumblr run by the-queen-of-thedas and my match was compulsive-elfrootpicker (main amberhynes) so i wrote a thing with some of their fav characters (alistair, isabela, and morrigan) and shenanigans involving a modern AU and a cat!!! i hope u like ur gift, this was a lot of fun to write!!!
> 
> also i used their warden reina cousland as the warden character (who doesn't appear but is mentioned - same with anders) so thats who reina is!!

This is _not_ what Alistair had expected when Reina asked him to take care of a cat for the weekend.

It’s not even Reina’s cat; it’s Reina’s _friend’s_ cat—Anders is the guy’s name, if Alistair remembers correctly. Apparently, Reina had agreed to watch Ser Pounce-a-Lot for the weekend while Anders was away, before realizing at the last minute that she was _also_ going away for the weekend. Cue a panicked phone call late Thursday evening in which Reina asked Alistair to be the substitute cat-sitter, and Alistair agreed despite knowing next to nothing about cats. “Surely they can’t be _that_ much different from dogs,” he’d assured himself. It should be fine, right? Right?

Wrong.

It’s only been about ten minutes since Reina dropped off Ser Pounce-a-Lot at Alistair’s apartment. In that time, Pounce has shredded Alistair’s curtains, knocked over several cups, and pissed on the kitchen floor despite knowing full well how to use the litter box, which Alistair had placed right near the back door to the balcony. Granted, it could be worse—at least the cups are all plastic and didn’t break, and at least Pounce didn’t piss on the carpet, and Alistair has been meaning to get some new curtains anyway—but _still_.

“What do you _want_ from me?” Alistair asks the cat, who is standing on top of the kitchen table and swishing his tail back and forth. He’s just finished cleaning everything up, but there are bound to be plenty more messes at this rate.

Ser Pounce-a-Lot meows, but Alistair doesn’t speak cat, so he has no idea what that means. “It was a rhetorical question,” he says. Pounce hisses and uses his hind paws to slide his collar off of his neck. Alistair sighs.

It’s only Friday afternoon. Reina won’t be back to pick up the cat until Sunday evening. Clearly Alistair isn’t going to survive until then without some help, so he does the only thing he can think of to do: he calls Zevran.

Zevran Arainai is not usually the first person Alistair calls in the event of an emergency. That would be Wynne—she’s a sensible woman who has lived a lot longer than Alistair, and she’s very good at being “the adult” in any given situation. Alas, she’s apparently busy all weekend—if she’d been available, Reina would’ve asked her to watch Ser Pounce-a-Lot instead of Alistair.

The second person Alistair calls in the event of an emergency is Reina, but obviously that won’t do any good in this case. The third person would be Leliana, but she’s visiting family in Orlais; thus, by default, Zevran is the next person on his list, because Sten and Morrigan both scare him, and he trusts Oghren with a cat even less than he trusts himself.

Alistair’s conversations with Zevran normally take place over text when not in person, but this is an emergency, and he’s not going to risk being left on read when there’s a cat loose in his apartment who seems bent on giving him the headache of a lifetime. Luckily, Zevran picks up on the third ring. “Hello? Alistair?”

“Zevran!” Alistair says, breathing a sigh of relief. “Look, I know you probably have plans this evening, but I’m having a bit of an emergency and I need you to come over as soon as you can.”

“An emergency?” Zevran repeats. He sounds like he’s not sure whether to be concerned or amused. “What sort of emergency are we talking about? Do I need to call an ambulance?”

Alistair snorts. “Zevran, if I needed to call an ambulance, I would’ve called it _before_ I called you.”

“Alright, fair enough,” Zevran replies. “Just let me put my pants back on, and then Isabela and I will be right over.”

“You—what?” Alistair says, but it’s too late; Zevran has already hung up.

Alistair shakes his head and turns back to the kitchen table—except Ser Pounce-a-Lot is not where Alistair last saw him. “Ser Pounce-a-Lot?” he calls, looking back and forth between the table and the counters. “Pouncey?”

It’s no use. Ser Pounce-a-Lot is nowhere in the kitchen—Alistair figures that out pretty quickly just by checking the cabinets and the pantry. The cat is gone, and he clearly doesn’t bow to Alistair, so it’s unlikely that he’ll return just at the sound of his name. “Blast it,” Alistair mutters. This day is just getting worse and worse by the second.

Alistair heads into the living room, checking behind and under furniture and even lifting up the couch cushions, to no avail. Beginning to grow desperate, he runs to the bathroom, searching under the sink and behind the shower curtain and even in the (closed) toilet, just in case Pounce somehow lifted up the lid and crawled inside. Nothing.

Alistair is in the process of tearing his bedroom apart when he hears Zevran’s voice singsonging, “Alistair! Oh, Alistair!”

“Yes!” Alistair calls as he digs through his closet. “I’m back here!”

A few seconds later, Alistair hears two pairs of footsteps behind him in the messy room. He glances over his shoulder to find Zevran and his friend-with-benefits, Isabela, both staring at him with their eyebrows raised in confusion. “What is the emergency?” Zevran asks coolly.

Alistair turns around to face them, running a hand through his hair. “Okay, so Reina agreed to watch some guy’s cat for the weekend, but then she realized that she was also going away for the weekend, so she pawned the cat off on me to babysit. Except the cat is a monster who hates me and I don’t know how to take care of it, and also since I called you I have discovered that the monster-cat has gone missing.”

“Wait,” Isabela says, holding a hand up. “Whose cat is it again?”

Now it’s Alistair’s turn to raise an eyebrow in confusion. “Err...I’m not quite sure why that matters, but I think his name’s Anders?”

Isabela gasps and claps a hand over her mouth. “I _knew_ it! You’re watching Ser Pounce-a-Lot!”

Alistair shrugs helplessly. “Well, I _was_. How do you even know this guy?”

“I met him through a mutual friend,” Isabela says. “He gets around, it seems, despite the fact that he’s kind of a hermit.”

Zevran, meanwhile, is typing something in his phone, a half-smirk on his face. Alistair narrows his eyes. “What are you doing?”

“I am adding this to my list of ridiculous reasons Alistair has called me,” Zevran replies with a laugh. “Do not worry, my friend. We shall find this Ser Pounce-a-Lot in no time.”

“You have a _list_?” Alistair says, before shaking his head. “You know what? Never mind. We have more important issues here. Number one being that I’ve had the cat for less than half an hour and I’ve already lost him. I checked the whole apartment, every hiding place I could think of, and I haven’t found anything.”

“Hmm. You never know,” Zevran says thoughtfully as he puts his phone back in his pocket. “Cats can be very quick and sneaky. Maybe he keeps moving to different hiding spots like a game of tag.”

“A game of hide-and-seek tag,” Isabela adds. “If we split up, we might be able to find him.”

“Yes. Good idea,” Alistair agrees, so with that, Zevran and Isabela rush out of the bedroom to search other areas of the apartment.

Alistair investigates every part of the bedroom and bathroom multiple times, with no success. When the three reconvene in the living room after a solid ten minutes, he can tell by his friends’ expressions that they didn’t find the cat, either.

“I don’t get it,” Alistair says. “I didn’t leave the front door open or anything. How did he get out?”

At that, Zevran awkwardly gestures toward the kitchen. “Alistair, I have a question,” he says slowly. “Was that window always open?”

 _Oh, no._ Alistair nearly sprints into the kitchen, his eyes resting on an open window right above the kitchen counter. He’d opened it earlier in the daytime because it got hot in the apartment and he’d needed some air. Now the spring breeze blowing peacefully through the window seems to mock him.

Alistair rests his elbows on the counter and then buries his head in his hands, groaning and swearing under his breath. “Maker, I’m so _stupid._ ”

“Well, Isabela knows the fellow who owns the cat,” Zevran says reassuringly, doing his best to remain optimistic about the whole situation. “That will probably come in handy.”

Isabela laughs nervously. “Um, actually, it might not.”

That is _not_ what Alistair wanted to hear. “What? Why not?”

Isabela crosses her arms. “He loves that cat. If he even suspected that something bad happened to it, he’d probably—I don’t know—magic us to death.”

Zevran snorts. “I believe the phrase you are looking for is ‘kill us with fire,’ my dear.”

“Wait,” Alistair says, an automatic reaction. “Anders is a mage?”

“Oh. Yeah,” Isabela says nonchalantly. “Why?”

Alistair shakes his head and reminds himself that it’s not relevant. “Oh. No reason, I guess. I used to be a templar. Well, I left before I could actually take my vows, but I have all the abilities.”

Isabela’s eyes widen, as if she’s just suddenly put two and two together. “Are you serious?”

“Err...yes?” Alistair says, eyeing her with confusion. “What about it?”

“I think Anders somehow teaches his cats to like mages and dislike templars,” Isabela explains. “Or maybe they just learn the behavior by being around him. At any rate, they seem to be able to...sense that sort of thing.” She shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t know a whole lot about magic and such.” Then she smirks a little, her eyes twinkling playfully. “But that _would_ explain why Ser Pounce disliked you so much.”

Zevran practically cackles. “Oh, the thought of a cat shredding your curtains because you’re a _templar_!” he crows.

“I _was_ a templar,” Alistair corrects. “But if the cat likes mages and dislikes templars...do you think he may have wandered off to a mage’s house?”

A lightbulb seems to appear over Isabela’s head. “That’s it!” she exclaims. “I know where to look for him. There’s a mage girl who lives just down the street, and he can’t have gone too far.”

Zevran snatches a bag of cat treats off the kitchen table, probably to entice Pounce to come back. “Well, what are we waiting for?” he says, shaking the bag. “Let’s go cat-hunting!”

With that, the three all rush out the door. They don’t bother with the elevator (since Alistair lives on the third floor of his apartment building); Alistair practically leaps down the stairs, Zevran slides down the railing, and Isabela sprints faster than Alistair thought was possible in knee-high boots. They probably look strange running through the lobby and bursting through the front doors. Isabela leads them across the parking lot and onto the sidewalk, heading in the direction of the downtown area.

Any thoughts about how it might have been faster to take the car vanish when Alistair sees the bumper-to-bumper traffic. It’s late afternoon on a Friday; it would’ve taken them ten minutes just to get out of the parking lot. Besides, they’re pedestrians, so they have the right-of-way at every crosswalk.

It’s not long before they arrive at a quaint little white townhouse with a rocking chair and several potted plants on the porch. Isabela bangs on the door several times, yelling, “ _Merrill_!”

A few moments later, the door opens, revealing a small elven girl with black hair and tattoos on her face. “Isabela!” she says cheerfully, sounding pleasantly surprised. “What brings you here? And who are they?” She gestures toward Alistair and Zevran.

“Some friends,” Isabela replies quickly. “Listen—did you happen to see an orange tabby cat recently? Like, within the past forty-five minutes or so?”

Merrill’s eyes light up. “Yes, actually! A cat that looked just like that came scratching at the door maybe fifteen minutes ago. I gave him some pieces of cucumber and he sat with me on the porch for a little, but then he left.”

“He _left_?” Alistair repeats in a panic.

“Merrill,” Isabela says slowly, “that was Ser Pounce-a-Lot. Anders’s cat.”

Merrill covers her mouth with her hand. Clearly she knows Anders, too. “ _Ohhh_ ,” she says, her cheeks flushing pink. “I _knew_ he looked familiar. But he wasn’t wearing his collar, so I wasn’t sure.”

Alistair mentally smacks himself, remembering the way Pounce had removed his own collar with ease. Alistair hadn’t bothered to put it back on him.

“Oh, Merrill,” Isabela says with a sigh, but there’s not a trace of malice in her voice (in fact, Alistair thinks he might actually hear a bit of endearment).

“The last I saw him,” Merrill adds, “he was headed down toward Korcari Street. Fast, too.” She giggles a little. “He was a cat on a mission. As if he had somewhere very important to be.”

Alistair and Zevran exchange glances. They only know one mage who lives on Korcari Street. “ _Morrigan_!” they say in unison.

Alistair throws his hands up in the air. “She hates animals!” he yelps. “She’ll kill him! Skin him alive, eat him for dinner, then use his bones as kindling!”

Upon hearing this, Isabela grimaces and says, “Well, we’d better be going, Merrill. Got a cat to save and all that. Bye!”

Without another word, she turns around and leaps down the steps, Zevran following her. Alistair shoots Merrill a glance and says, “Thanks.” Then he turns around and runs after Isabela and Zevran.

“Oh! Um, no problem?” Merrill says from behind him. Isabela will have a lot of explaining to do later, it seems.

As they rush to Korcari Street (earning strange looks from passersby as they shove their way through crowds and cross streets when they’re not supposed to), Zevran says, “I have to say, Isabela, I am surprised.”

“Surprised about what?” Isabela asks, raising an eyebrow.

“You always go on about how selfish you are,” Zevran says smugly, “yet here you are, helping Alistair with his cat predicament without expecting anything in return.”

“Oh, come on,” Isabela replies defensively. “I’m only doing this because I don’t want Anders to kill me. That’s all.”

“Hmm,” Zevran says, clearly unconvinced. “From what I’ve gathered, Anders still thinks that Reina is the one taking care of the cat. If anything were to happen to him, it would be on her head, and _maybe_ Alistair’s. Not yours.”

“I—well, I just had to make sure that—shut up.” Her cheeks turn pink, and Zevran laughs.

This time, when they reach Morrigan’s townhouse, Alistair is the one who pounds his fists on the door and shouts, “ _Morrigan_!”

“She may not answer to you,” Zevran says. “Let me try.” Taking a deep breath, he cups his hands around his mouth and calls, “Morrigan! O magical temptress, I beseech thee!”

The sound of the front door slamming open stops Zevran from continuing his speech. “ _What_?” Morrigan snaps, looking even grumpier and more terrifying than usual. “First a cat, and now _this_.”

“A cat!” Zevran exclaims. “That is what we’re here for!”

“Please tell me it’s still alive,” Alistair adds.

As if on cue, an orange tabby cat appears from behind Morrigan, rubbing himself against her legs and purring. Morrigan rolls her eyes and lightly pushes him away with her foot. “Shoo,” she says with a scowl.

“Pouncey!” Alistair cheers, a wave of relief washing over him at the sight of Ser Pounce-a-Lot all in one piece.

Morrigan raises an eyebrow, probably at the name. “I was not aware you had a cat, Alistair.”

“Oh, I don’t,” Alistair says quickly. “He’s not mine. I’m just...cat-sitting. Except apparently this cat really likes mages and really doesn’t like templars.”

Morrigan snorts. “Explains why he thought I would be a good person to visit.”

“Why did you even let him in, if you hate animals so much?” Zevran asks.

“I didn’t,” Morrigan says. “I opened my door to see what all the scratching was about, and he ran inside before I could stop him.”

“Well, uh, we’ll take him off your hands,” Alistair says, crouching down to pick up Ser Pounce-a-Lot. Pounce hisses and doesn’t move from Morrigan’s side.

“Go,” Morrigan tells him, sounding exasperated. “I have other things to deal with. This man will not harm you.”

Pounce meows at her. Alistair thinks the cat almost sounds unsure.

“He is an _ex_ -templar,” Morrigan continues with another roll of her eyes. “He never actually took his vows. Now go.”

Alistair holds back his laughter at the sight of Morrigan trying to reason with a cat. Ser Pounce-a-Lot trots out the door, but instead of heading toward Alistair, he stops at Isabela’s feet.

Isabela laughs a little. “It’s because he knows me,” she says. Then, to Ser Pounce-a-Lot, she adds, “Fine. I’ll carry you, you spoiled little furball.”

Ser Pounce-a-Lot meows approvingly as Isabela picks him up. “Well, err...sorry for bothering you,” Alistair says awkwardly to Morrigan. She glares at him, but—if he isn’t seeing things—he swears that her eyes betray something akin to amusement beneath the irritation and hostility.

“Try not to do it again,” Morrigan says with a hint of a smirk.

Alistair sticks his tongue out at her. Behind him, Zevran snickers.

They take their time walking back to Alistair’s apartment. “So,” Alistair says slowly, “we found Ser Pounce-a-Lot, but something tells me he’s going to keep making trouble.”

Zevran raises an eyebrow. “Is this your way of asking us if we would like to sleep over? I graciously accept.”

Alistair can feel his cheeks heating up. “Well, I mean, if you want—”

Zevran holds up his index finger and presses it lightly against Alistair’s lips. “Nonsense. I will not abandon my good friend Alistair in his time of need. I assume you have no objections, Isabela?”

After a short pause, Isabela, still carrying Ser Pounce-a-Lot, says, “None. But I reserve the right to leave whenever I want.”

“But of course,” Zevran says. “It has been decided. Ser Pounce-a-Lot will not stand a chance against us!”

Alistair smiles and shakes his head. It’s going to be a long and interesting weekend for sure.


End file.
